


Racer X

by necroesthe



Category: South Park
Genre: Age Difference, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necroesthe/pseuds/necroesthe
Summary: Craig brings Tweek to the back room. Nothing good ever happens in the back room.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56





	Racer X

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song "Racer X" by Big Black. I, personally, don't like it. But it popped up in my recommended and I thought it fit.
> 
> Thank you all on twit who supported me in writing this! Mwah mwah mwah! 
> 
> May you enjoy Adult Craig fucking Little Tweek's throat out <3

While Richard and Mom are dealing with a particularly angry customer, Craig calls his break and drags Tweek to the back room, hand swallowing Tweek’s much smaller one. 

Tweek silently swears. Craig is an ambivalent being who is just as likely to trip him while he’s sweeping the floor as he is to give him a ride home after school.

His life flashes before his eyes when the door shuts with the click. Craig descends upon him like a bird of prey. Tweek’s back hits the wall and his head slams against the concrete hard enough to spot his vision white.

He’d puke if he wasn’t so scared.

Craig slowly raises his arms to place his spindly fingers on Tweek’s shoulders. He squeezes, sinking his claws into Tweek’s flesh, grinding his bones together, and shoves him to his knees. The impact echoes throughout Tweek’s entire body. Bruises he can’t see immediately bloom across his knobby knees.

The next sound to penetrate the silence is Craig unzipping his jeans. He hooks his finger in the waistband and swiftly tugs them down alongside his boxers.

Tweek flinches. Craig’s dick is standing up, larger than any other dick he’s seen. Granted, he’s in fourth grade. He also refuses to count Richard in his assessment.

“Blow me,” Craig orders.

Tweek recoils. “That’s sick! You pee from there!”

However, curiosity overrides self-respect. Tweek leans forward to give it a tentative sniff. It doesn’t smell  _ bad. _ Musty but undeniably human. Tweek eyes the dark curls sitting at the base as they’re the answer to all his problems.

“So?” Craig retorts. “It can’t be any worse than you drinking Harbucks.”

Tweek sucks in a breath between his teeth. “How do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

Tweek tugs his hair and whines.

Craig could destroy him with this information! The roof over his head, the food on his plate, and the clothes on his body — gone! All gone! They’d take his social security number too, and the black market would swallow him. His organs aren’t good enough to be harvested. So the only thing left is human trafficking. He doesn’t wanna be trafficked!

Craig yanks Tweek’s hand to his cock. He curls Tweek’s fingers around the base and squeezes. “Lick and use your hand for whatever your mouth can’t reach. Cover your teeth like this when sucking,” Craig demonstrates, wrapping his lips over his teeth. “I’ll castrate you if I feel any teeth.”

Craig punctuates his point by looking him dead in the eye. His pupils are so wide the iris is almost entirely black. A halo of gold flecked with bronze surrounds the inky darkness. Tweek is sucked inside and torn apart, molecule by molecule, atom by atom.

Goosebumps ripple across Tweek’s skin as a shudder travels down his spine. His heart goes into overdrive, each thump threatening to crack open his ribs. It wants out, it wants out — 

_ He _ wants out.

Tweek swallows a hysterical giggle.

He leans forward to give a tentative lick. When he doesn’t burst into flames, he swirls his tongue over the tip.

There are no traces of the pee he expected. Tweek supposes it isn’t wholly unpleasant, but it isn’t entirely pleasant either. He’s sucking dick for Christ’s sake. In the back room where the secret ingredient lies scattered, beneath a yellow light bulb that might fall and crack his head open, for an adult that shoves ice cubes down his shirt to hear him scream.

“Yeah,” Craig breathes, weaving his long fingers through Tweek’s hair like a snake creeping through grass. “That’s it, baby. Just lick it like a lollipop.”

Tweek pulls back with a ‘pop’. He grimaces at the string of saliva connecting him to the glossy head of Craig’s cock. “I don’t like lollipops,” He says with a hushed whisper. “The sugar eats your teeth so the dentists can implant a chip in you while you’re drugged up,” Tweek twitches, nearly goring his eye with Craig’s dick. “Who knows what else they do to you.”

Craig snaps his fingers. “Focus.”

“Augh, sorry!” Tweek yelps. He drags his tongue across the side of Craig’s cock, getting an eyeful of the angry veins branching out. Slick with saliva, Tweek carefully pumps Craig. His breath hitches at the size. It’s one thing looking. It’s another to realize that the tips of your fingers don’t even meet. His stomach flips.

Tweek cranes his neck to lap at the underside, peering up at Craig’s face in the process.

His cheeks are flushed — his half-lidded eyes dark. His slightly parted lips conceal his braces by a margin. But Tweek knows they’re there. Those navy bands encased in metal, those navy bands Tweek chose.

Craig licks his thumb and drags it across Tweek’s forehead, leaving a wet streak.  _ “Simba,”  _ he whispers with a smirk.

The cold air nips Tweek’s damp skin with increased fervor. He furrows his brow. What’s a Simba?

He must have spent too much time staring because Craig speaks up. “See something you like?”

The angle hints at a double chin. Tweek answers honestly. “Not really.”

Craig slaps him across the face.

Tweek recoils. He rubs his cheek gingerly. “What was that for, man? Mr. Mackey said that honesty was the best policy.”

“Mr. Mackey is stupid. Don’t listen to him.”

“Who should I listen to then?”

“Me,” Craig answers immediately. He tightens his grip on Tweek’s hair, eliciting a sharp whine. “And your parents. But mainly me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who’ll buy you once your parents sell you to slavery.”

“Oh no,” His parents haven’t even taught him how to be a slave. How could they already confirm an order when there’s no guarantee the product will work properly? He gnaws his lips. “Do I have to call you master then? Or sir?”

“Sir has a nice ring to it.”

Craig shoves Tweek back on his cock, raking his nails against Tweek’s scalp.

It’s pretty boring. Lick, slurp, swirl, and jerk. Tweek’s jaw aches and saliva dribbles down his chin. Spit smears across his face when he targets the base and it’s  _ nasty. _ Foul, disgusting, horrible; Tweek abhors all bodily fluids.

Is dick sucking a messy endeavor? Or is Tweek a messy person?

It’s Craig who’s messy, Tweek decides, because Craig literally smeared a line of saliva on his forehead.

Two sharp knocks interrupt his musings. Richard’s voice rings loud and clear. “Craig, your break ends in 5 minutes. Be late so we can deduct it from your check.”

“Oh hell no,” Craig mutters, hands slithering to the back of Tweek’s head, to the slender slope where scalp meets neck, and holds him still. Then he slams his hips forward, jamming his dick into the back of Tweek’s throat. 

Tweek’s stomach lurches. Bile, coffee, and whatever Tweek had inside comes out as a scalding wet mess. Half goes right back down, acid burning the back of his throat, and the other half slithers down his chin, somehow bypassing his teeth and the cock in his mouth.

The final half creeps up his nose and out his nostrils, clogging his airway and stealing his ability to breathe. 

Tweek’s hands scrabble at Craig’s lap, palms flat against the coarse denim as he pushes with all his strength. His elbows lock with an audible click and an acrid burn crawls up his arm. He’s bending in ways he’s not supposed to bend — bones straining against joints, joints straining against ligaments, and ligaments straining against the natural curvature of his arm.

Craig continues thrusting. In and out, in and out, hitting the back of Tweek’s throat each time.

His insides tear itself apart, twisting and turning with each unresolved gag, then twisting and turning some more. He’s being shredded, and the vicious acid in his stomach seeps into the rips to poison him from the inside. He’s dying and atrophying, atrophying and dying.

Black spots dance in the corner of his vision, mocking him, and the world swims, transformed into indistinguishable splotches of color. He knows the tan blob is Craig’s abdomen, and the navy and white is his jacket and t-shirt. The black is Craig’s pants, and the grey are the walls of the room. However, he can’t see the fair hairs of a regrowing happy trail on Craig’s tummy, he can’t see the fibers of Craig’s t-shirt or the buttons on his jacket, and he can’t see swirls on the concrete wall that have given him more scrapes than necessary.

He can’t see anything identifiable, but it does nothing to stop the icy cold betrayal surging through his veins. It isn’t a depraved stranger who chose him at random. It’s  _ Craig. _

Tweek squeezes his eyes shut. His cheeks are wet. When did he start crying? 

He sobs and it makes everything so much worse. He can’t breathe, he’s suffocating, he can’t breathe, everything burns, he can’t breathe. He’s scared. He’s so fucking scared.

Tweek pounds at Craig harder.

Another cry slips out. More acid escapes his stomach. Vomit splatters against the concrete floor. It slides down his chin and creeps down his shirt. His shirt is warm. His shirt clings to his chest. Filthy vomit touches his filthy body’s filthy skin.

He’s gonna die, he’s gonna  _ die —  _

Then Craig stills, entire body shuddering with a deep groan. He funnels magma down his throat, surging against the vomit still rising upward. His esophagus, his trachea – they’re all full, contaminating his stomach, lungs, and the rest of his insides. It festers.

The door cracks open. The sliver of light that crept through abruptly disappears as his parents step through with matching gasps of surprise. 

“Oh goodness,” Mom exclaims, putting a delicate hand on her chest. “Good thing we have a spare change of clothes for emergencies. You’ll drive away customers if you're filthy, pumpkin.”

A frown crosses Richard’s face. “Clean up after you’re done. And stay quiet. I don’t need a scandal.”

“Got it,” Craig replies.

Richard and Mom, seemingly satisfied, return to the shop. 

Craig shoves Tweek’s head away. Tweek hunches over, immediately couching, trying to expel fluid blocking his windpipe. Finally, some freedom. 

Craig produces a crinkling noise, brief silence, then the unmistakable sound of a zipper.

He pounds Tweek’s back with a fist. It’s dry there, but the front of his shirt is cold and slimy and disgusting. The buttons press against his chest, bogged by the fluid-induced weight of the cloth; each wrack of his shoulders sends them sliding against his skin. 

Eventually he regains control of his lungs. He retches a couple of times to confirm dry heaving. When nothing comes out, he raises his head.

Craig’s hand darts out like a snake. He grabs Tweek’s jaw in an iron grip, holding him in place once more.

A wet wipe is folded neatly in Craig’s other hand, answering the question as to what the crinkling was from. Tweek’s shoulders tighten when Craig begins to wipe his face. The motions are gentle, bordering tender. Tweek would recoil if he wasn’t trapped.

Craig uses a total of four wipes. He flings them away and deftly unbuttons Tweek’s top. He peels it off Tweek’s torso and tosses it to the side. It falls to the floor with a splat.

Craig doesn’t bat an eye. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around Tweek’s shoulders, popping in the first button. It hangs on him like a poncho. The inside is warm from Craig’s body heat, and it smells faintly of aftershave. Tweek turns his head.

“Stay here until my shift ends,” Craig says evenly. “I’ll convince your parents you aren’t suitable to serve. Then I’ll take you to my place to give you a proper bath. You can play with Stripe too. Capisce?”

Tweek presses his lips together.

Craig grabs a fistful of Tweek’s hair and yanks his head up. He rams his forehead against Tweek’s so they’re eye to eye, nose to nose. His breath must smell like shit, but if Craig is affected, he doesn’t show.

_ “Capisce?”  _ Craig growls.

“Capisce!” Tweek squeaks.

Craig releases him. Without a second glance, he stands up and leaves.

The door shuts with a soft click.

Tweek counts to ten, then to 60, then to 600. When no one comes for him, he pushes himself to his feet. He hunts through the shelves and rummages through any box he can find. 

He successfully locates a spare change of clothes and quickly shimmies into them after wiping the rest of himself down with a paper towel. Craig’s jacket hangs over his shoulders and swallows him; the hem ends just above his knees.

He bags his soiled clothes and cleans the floor.

When he finishes, he shuffles to the corner farthest away from the door and curls up, keeping his back against the walls, front facing the door. Craig’s jacket strangles him. Aftershave suffocates him.

He counts.

10, 60, 600 — Tweek toys with his buttons, worries his lips with his teeth and gnaws inside of his cheek; he chews his nails and picks at his cuticles.

1200, 2400, 4800 — He scratches his arms and tugs at his hair, strands between his fingertips falling to the floor.

9600, 19200, 38400 — Tweek flings his head back against the concrete wall, Once, twice, thrice. Again and again and again. 

72000 — He waits for his doom, waits for his salvation. He waits for his rescue and waits for his capture.

Tweek waits.

**Author's Note:**

> 11.22.2020
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this! I love problematic Creek and would love to see more in this fandom! The last time I posted an SP fic was 2 years ago, so maybe this will end up as a biennial tradition! Who knows what 2022 will bring!
> 
> Craig is wearing braces as an adult because it took him a while to scrounge up enough cash to cover what insurance refuses to pay. Also they're cute.
> 
> Feel free to find me at twitter! I'm [@necroesthe](https://twitter.com/necroesthe) and I talk about many things!
> 
> Have a good day and thank you for reading <3


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